


Under Pressure

by wingedkiare



Series: Whiskey-Tango Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, Domestic, M/M, Post Season 8, Pre-Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedkiare/pseuds/wingedkiare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the Angels Fall.  Dean and Cas spend most of their time at each other's throats. Sam means well when he suggests that Dean and Cas work a case together.</p><p>
  <i>He thought they’d had it figured out.  Cas hadn’t needed much training to start hunting- he was skilled with a knife, and had proved to be a good shot.  With 6 hunts under his belt, it was clear that the only lapse in his skill set was no longer being able to sense everything around him, but he was picking it up.  The nightmares hit about once a week, so things were supposed to be getting better.  Instead... </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1: Nature Boy

_Three Months after the Angels Fall_

Sam dropped two folders on the kitchen table. “Two jobs. One looks like an easy salt n’ burn in Wichita, the other’s in Tulsa. Bunch of missing men, no bodies.”

“So?”

“I’m taking the salt n’ burn, and I figured you and Cas can-“

Dean grabbed the folder, not looking up from his coffee. “Oh, that’ll go well.”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but you two need to figure it out.”

He thought they’d had it figured out. Cas hadn’t needed much training to start hunting- he was skilled with a knife, and had proved to be a good shot. With 6 hunts under his belt, it was clear that the only lapse in his skill set was no longer being able to sense everything around him, but he was picking it up. The nightmares hit about once a week, so things were supposed to be getting better. Instead, the two of them were at each other’s throats. 

Sam’s phone beeped, and he looked down at it. “He’s back.”

“It’s not my fucking fault that he gets pissed off at everything I do, or that going for a 2 mile run doesn’t actually seem to calm him down.” Dean slammed his cup on the table, to head towards the front door. He took a deep breath as he opened the door, where Cas stood, fussing with his phone- probably texting Charlie. “Good run?”

“I wish I had gone further.” Cas’s hair was barely damp with sweat, and the running shirt made out of the wicking material looked pretty dry still. Whatever hint of a smile the dark-haired man had walked in with vanished as soon as he actually looked at Dean, replaced by an uncomfortable glare.

“Sam found a case.”

Eyebrow raised, Cas rushed down the stairs. “He can tell me after I get cleaned up.”

“Right. Don’t use all the hot water.”

Cas stopped, his entire body tense. “Once. That happened once at a motel.”

“Fine. Don’t take forever, then.” Dean started down the stairs, convinced that Cas was muttering that it wouldn’t be a problem.

**

Fifteen minutes later, Cas sat down at the long table, barefoot and in a ratty pair of blue jeans from a thrift store. Two bottles of water in front of him. He looked directly at Sam, ignoring Dean. “You have something?”

Sam exhaled. “A salt n’ burn a couple hours out, and a bunch of missing men over in Tulsa.”

Cas ran his fingers through still damp hair. “You want Dean and I to take the bigger case.”

“Well,” Sam said, his knee nervously bouncing up and down. “You can’t drive yet.”

Cas reached for the folder. “I didn’t mean that. I was just surprised that you didn’t think it’d be better for you and I to take the bigger hunt. Unless there isn’t a second hunt at all.”

Sam groaned. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the papers sticking out of your case is in my handwriting.” Cas sighed. “If you don’t feel up to going, just say it.”

“He probably just didn’t want to worry us,” Dean said, giving Sam a warning glance, as he grabbed the folder from Cas’s hand. “I’ll give it a crack first, and we can head out in the morning.”

“Fine.” Cas shoved his chair back, it scraping along the floor. “I’m going to meditate.”

“Meditate? You think that’s going to help?”

“Your voice irritates me right now, Dean. Going somewhere that I won’t have to hear it seems like the best option.”

“Fine.” The word came out sharper than Dean meant, and he sounded more like Sam had when he was 12.

Sam waited until Cas had padded down the hallway to do anything beyond glare at Dean. “That isn’t fixing it.”

“You lied to him, and then I had to lie to him.” Dean tapped the edge of the folder on the table, focusing on the sharp sound instead of everything else clouding up his head. This wasn’t the time to chase after Cas. Or to start an actual fight with Sam. “Tell me you aren’t trying to Parent Trap us.”

“Parent Trap?” Sam’s voice went a little high, and he looked away. 

“I watched that movie with you at least a dozen times when we were kids. Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Maybe I was. But you two are both being asses. You need to talk to him.”

“Says the guy getting ideas from a Hayley Mills movie.” Dean exhaled. “I’ll give it a shot. But damn it, don’t lie to him like that. Nobody would have thought twice if you’d said you wanted to stay behind.” He looked down at the folder. “I’m gonna let Cas look at this first.”

Sam opened the “other case” folder, which really was filled with Cas’s notes and a few pages of Kevin’s sloppy scrawls. Apparently it was his pile of things to type.

“Parent Trap,” Dean muttered. The walk to Cas’s room wasn’t a long one, but it was enough for Dean to run through at least a dozen things that would probably start an argument that would top the great laundry battle of last week. Dean stood in front of the door, hand up ready to knock, still not sure of what would work. “Cas?”

“Come in,” Cas said gruffly.

Dean opened the door a little, putting the folder in first. “Thought you should probably look at this first. I mean, you are like a walking library,” he joked.

“Glad I can be of use,” Cas said flatly from his position on the floor. He exhaled, eyes closed tight. “This isn’t working.”

“Huh,” Dean set the file on Cas’s desk, taking a step or two back. “Anyways, take a look when you can. We can talk later.” He closed the door before he could say anything ridiculous, because Dean had promised to let Cas figure out this whole human thing and decide if this was what he wanted. Which obviously, it wasn’t. It wasn’t working, apparently.

The kitchen was a safe place, and Dean threw himself into making the sauce for dinner. Everything else got pushed away for things that always made sense. The way that onions and carrots softened in oil, the scent of garlic, and the feel of tomatoes being crushed in his hands. They never changed.

The sauce simmered on low, and the eggplant was sliced and salted, set aside until it was time to bread and fry them. Without his hands focused on something, he couldn’t stop hearing the words over and over again. _It wasn’t working._

He’d said those words to girls. Again, and again. Because it was one of those things that said a lot. That ending things had come after a lot of thought. Then again, things hadn’t even really started. They hadn’t even found any sort of solid ground. 

Even once he started patting the eggplant dry, and set up the dredging trays, he couldn’t stop the words from running through his head. _Itwasn’tworking.Itwasn’tworking.Itwasn’tworking._

“Need a hand?” Cas was right behind him. Dean wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been too busy thinking, or if Cas was still that sneaky. All he knew was that his entire spine had gone stiff.

Dean stopped, forcing himself to relax his posture. “Maybe. How was meditating?”

Cas lifted the pot for the sauce, taking a sniff. “I already told you. It wasn’t working.”

 _It wasn’t working._ Dean smiled, too relieved to care about his reaction. “I’ll get the oil heating up, make sure I got all the water and salt wiped off the eggplant.”

“You do realize it no longer counts as a vegetable if you fry it.” Cas walked to the sink, washing his hands thoroughly. He thought he saw a hint of a smirk.

“There’s a bag of salad in there to shut Sam up if he complains.”

“Why is he sending us on this hunt together?” Leave it to Cas to jump into a serious conversation without any warning.

Dean stopped, pushing the tray with the flour towards Cas. “Dredge. I’ll put them in the egg and breadcrumbs.”

“Dean.”

“I’m not avoiding this. We just have to get started before the oil gets too hot.” He exhaled as he flicked some of the bread crumbs into the oil, causing it to bubble. “Sam’s just Sam. I mean…”

“He thinks he’s helping.”

“Something like that.”

They fell into silence as they worked together. Cas coated the eggplant pieces in flour, setting them in the next tray for Dean to coat in egg and then cover with bread crumbs. Dean slid them into the oil, piece by piece until the pan was filled.

As he waited to turn them over, Dean glanced over at Cas. “See anything in the case file?”

Cas stopped, wiping his hands off on the jeans. “Not yet, but I might think more clearly after I eat something.”

Dean nodded as he flipped over the eggplant pieces gently with the tongs. “Tends to work that way.”

Cas reached up into the counter overhead for the plates, a warm presence next to Dean. “I’m not seeing anything obvious, though.”

“Well, there’s no rush. I mean, you know how it is. Half the time we don’t know until we’re in the middle of it.”

Cas snorted, saying nothing as he put the dishes down at the long table, a little more heavily than he should.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Dean dropped the tongs on the baking sheet he planned to drain the eggplant on, the clang filling the room.

“It means I’m well aware that most of your plans involve you muddling through until you figure out what you’re up against.”

Somewhere else in the bunker, Dean could hear a door open and close suddenly. Kevin was probably back in hiding. He didn’t seem to come out these days unless it was time for food. Which was probably their fault. “Well, it isn’t like newspapers come out and say that it was a coven.”

“I thought we were never speaking of Minneapolis again?” Cas turned, eyebrow raised.

“We aren’t. Ever.” Tongs in hand, Dean tried to be gentle with the eggplant, but he could see that he was still squeezing them too hard. Bits of breading came off on the paper towels. “I’m just saying, right now, looking at the file is about seeing if anything grabs you.”

“Like the trucker from the bar in Minneapolis? I wish I could remember his-” 

Dean slid three more pieces into the oil. “Moments like this that I wish I could banish you somewhere.” He hoped it sounded less bitter than it did in his head. Even accidental mentions of anything angelic were landmines, but he couldn’t think of any other way to get Cas to stop that sentence.

Cas laughed sharply, sliding back into the spot along the counter next to him. “I see, you can endlessly tease me for one long hot shower, but I can’t bring that up?”

“Because that’s about your obsession with staying clean, and you’re bringing up one of the worst curses I’ve ever had slapped on me?” He tried to move further down the counter from Cas, but realized he was putting himself too close to the splattering oil and stepped back. “Find something else, especially before Sam shows up and starts asking questions.”

“The only other truly embarrassing moment when we were together was when I freaked out a whore,” Cas said flatly. “I can’t give you a hard time for my own mistake.”

Dean smiled as he pulled the batch of eggplant from the oil, relieved that the breading wasn’t coming off of these. “That was pretty funny.”

“Charlie told me it was her favorite scene of mine in the books.” Cas sighed, his head much too close to Dean’s shoulder as he started to mix the salad in a bowl. “I’m only glad I convinced Chuck to leave Minneapolis out-”

“What?” Dean almost dropped the last three pieces of eggplant into the oil.

“I gave you my word that nobody would hear of it.” The fallen angel stood straight, his arm against Dean’s. He was close enough that Dean could actually feel his breath on his neck.

Dean thought about turning towards Cas, pushing into his space. Wondered if it would be as great as he’d imagined.

“Dinner ready yet?” Sam asked from the doorway. 

Dean did his best not to jump, instead he nudged Cas with his elbow. “You can put that on the table. The rest will be done in a couple minutes. Sammy, why don’t you get Kevin?”

Blue eyes blinking, Cas grabbed the salad. “Don’t forget the cheese.”

Dean nodded, and for the life of him he wasn’t sure whether or not to thank or punch Sam for the interruption. “Maybe you should make dinner next time.”

“Sandwiches for everyone,” Cas said with a laugh as he walked out of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Dean’s a year older than me, I have a headcanon where he watched all the movies I watched- because we didn’t have cable as a kid, so we were stuck watching whatever local movies ran on weekends. So yes, Hayley Mills, not the Lindsey Lohan version.
> 
> Also, there is a very definite story with Minneapolis. It may or may not be from a fic I’d abandoned earlier in the year… which I’ll probably finish. No promises when. :)
> 
> Music
> 
> Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie  
> Nature Boy - Nat King Cole


	2. 2: Summertime Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drive, a case without any leads, and lots of coffee.
> 
>  
> 
> _Even in his worst moods, Cas was easy to handle on a long drive. A couple hours of open road and he’d doze off, softly snoring with his face pressed up against the window._

Even in his worst moods, Cas was easy to handle on a long drive. A couple hours of open road and he’d doze off, softly snoring with his face pressed up against the window. After lunch in Wichita, he’d dozed off right away. Which was fine- it gave Dean time to relax, and think of nothing but the road ahead.

He didn’t wake up until they’d started to hit traffic signals. “Where are we?” Cas’s dark hair stuck up on one side, his eyes still half shut.

“Almost there. I need to fill up the tank, and figured we could find a coffee shop for you to get your tea fix.” 

“You aren’t listening to anything.” Dean was a little relieved that that’s what Cas led with, not that he knew that Cas drank black coffee first thing in the morning but preferred to drink some sort of tea latte the rest of the time.

“Couldn’t exactly reach over by your feet and grab another tape.” It wasn’t entirely true, but Dean was pretty sure that would have woken Cas. “Guessing you didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. It wouldn’t be safe.” Cas shoved the box of tapes under the seat, and Dean idly wondered when Cas started paying attention to what made up safe driving habits. “I couldn’t stop thinking last night.”

“That’s what booze is for, Cas.” He climbed out of the car, and took note of the pump number. The teenage girl at the counter was staring out the window, biting her lip. Dean leaned around a display of sunglasses to see what she was staring at. Cas. He’d gotten out of the car and was busy using the squeegee to clean the windows. Shirt slipping up an inch or so as he reached across to wipe off the water. He really didn’t blame her.

Dean cleared his throat, putting fifty dollars on the counter. “Pump 2.”

She turned back and gave him a nervous smile as she realized what pump he’d said. “Oh. Uh, it’s a nice car.”

“Thanks.” Dean offered as wide a smile as he could, walking back out into the heat. “Nice job on the windows.”

Cas dropped the squeegee back into the container. “It’s the least I could… Dean, I’m really not having problems sleeping. Just last night.”

Dean held up one hand for a moment in surrender. “There’s nothing wrong if you do, though. Or if you need to take something to help you sleep.” He picked up the pump, walking back to the rear of the impala to flip down the plate. “But I know, your body is a temple.”

Cas snorted. “Hardly. But it’s mine now.” He pushed away from the Impala. “You know where we’re staying?”

Dean nodded, squeezing the pump handle. Figures he’d pick the one gas station that didn’t have a pump that would lock. “I think you’d make the girl’s day if you asked her a good place to eat around here.”

“What?” Cas’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“She was checking you out. I mean, don’t flirt actually back. She’s like barely 18. But just saying, she’d probably be able to suggest somewhere good.”

Instead, Cas opened the passenger door and climbed in.

The pump shut off, and Dean screwed the cap back into place. “Okay.” He put the nozzle back at the pump, waved at the girl inside as he walked back to the driver’s side. “Are you hungry or do you want to get the room first?”

“Room. I smell like the road.” Cas had his phone out, fingers skimming the touch screen. “Letting Sam know we made it.”

“What is with you and your obsession with being clean?” Dean sighed, pulling out onto the road.

Cas didn’t answer, just shifted in the seat so that he could look out the window.

_Great._

**

Dean had hoped that Cas would say something. Anything. But as soon as they’d checked into the motel, he’d made a beeline for the bathroom and took an actual 20 minute shower. Okay, Dean wasn’t sure it was that long- he’d given up after 10 minutes to walk down to a nearby strip mall with a Chinese food joint and a liquor store.

When he came back with cold beer and cartons of takeout, Cas was sitting on the bed in front of the TV, in the same clothes he’d been wearing all day. The only sign he’d been in the shower was that his hair was slightly damp and curled.

“I hope you like lo mein. I got some sweet and sour chicken, but everything else looked a little iffy,” Dean said as he set everything down on top of the table. It was a lie. Three months had been enough for Cas to pick a few items of Chinese food he liked, even though he frequently complained they weren’t really Chinese. “And some egg rolls, too.”

Cas nodded, which was something at least. He seemed to be a little more relaxed, and Dean wondered if he’d just been cranky after sleeping in a weird position all day. From the way he was already splitting the chopsticks and grabbing a carton, it was clear he was hungry.

“Got some cerveza, too.”

“Cervezas,” Cas corrected between bites. “Plural.”

Naturally, Cas would break his silent streak to correct him. Dean sat down, grabbing a carton. “Languages are Sam’s thing. This is as good as it gets for me.”

Cas’s jaw tightened for a moment and he sighed. “Did you look at the file yet?”

“It’s still with your stuff, so no.” Dean finished a mouthful of chicken, and swallowed. “Did you figure anything out?”

“There’s nothing to go on. Four missing men in two months, and no trace of them. No blood, and the wives all say the marriages were perfect.”

“They were all married?”

“According to the articles Sam collected.” Cas held up one hand as he shoveled noodles into his mouth and began chewing. “Sorry. Just really hungry. You don’t think this was another lie of his?”

“Doubt it. If Sam had just wanted us to talk, he probably would have locked us in the dungeon.” Dean tossed the paper bag his egg rolls had been in towards the trash can, satisfied when it went in. “Beer?”

Cas shook his head, mouth full. He got up from the table, still chewing, and walked over to where he’d dumped his bags on the floor. He scooped up his laptop sleeve, pulling the file out of the pocket on the front of it. As he walked back, he dumped it in Dean’s lap, finally swallowing. “If you want to double check.”

“I believe you.” Dean set down the file on an open part of the table, spreading it out. “But I still have to learn the names.”

The file really was filled with a whole lot of nothing. Missing men, upset wives. Sam’s notes that there wasn’t anything else weird going on. No out of season crops. No extraordinarily lucky people. It was the sort of thing that could mean a human, not a monster. At least getting familiar with the names and faces of the missing people meant that he didn’t have to watch Cas absent-mindedly rub and peel the labels off the bottles of beer. They were working.

**

“Can I help you?” The middle aged woman sitting at the front desk asked with a wide smile, her eyes settling on Castiel.

“Agents McVie, Buckingham,” Dean said as he gestured from himself to Cas, flashing the credentials. “We need to speak with whoever’s handling the missing persons cases for Thorpe…” Dean stopped and turned towards Cas, drawing a blank with the rest of the names.

“Redmond, Mallick, and Sullivan,” Cas rattled off the three names easily, already putting his credentials back inside his coat.

“Oh, that would be Detective Hill.” She picked up her phone, punching in a code, looking up at Cas with a friendly smile. “I wasn’t aware that anyone called the Bureau on these.”

“There was a similar string of disappearances in DC,” Dean interjected. “So when this popped up on our radar, they sent us over.”

“You know how it is,” Cas said, as he gave the woman the look Dean had dubbed as ‘tired of human bullshit.’ It prompted a laugh and a smile from her.

“That’s the one thing I’ll say about staying local. None of our boys have to pick up at the drop of a hat to chase down leads in another state.” She smiled politely at the both of them. “Dave. There are two fellas from the FBI here about your missing men. Sure thing.” After hanging up the phone, she pointed to the door beside her. “Just walk down the hall, up the stairs and it’s the first door on the left. And if you need anything Agents?”

“We’ll be sure to ask you, Ms Richmond,” Cas supplied with a polite smile.

“Perfect,” she said, as she buzzed them through the door.

As they walked through the doors, Cas leaned over, his damn trenchcoat brushing against Dean’s knuckles. “That was easy enough.”

“Nice save with the names, by the way.”

Cas pulled back, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small notepad. “It’s what we do.” Dean waited for some sort of snide comment about him not memorizing them, but it never came.

After all these years, one police station started to blur into the next. This one was newer, and had a generic office vibe. No desks in a communal room, these were actual cubicles. “Hill?”

A balding head poked out from the wall of one of the cubicles. “You must be the boys from DC.”

“Guilty as charged.” Dean shook his hand firmly, watching as Cas tried to juggle his notebook and coffee cup in order to shake Hill’s hand. “McVie, Buckingham.”

“Gotta say, I’m glad that there are some fresh eyes. I’ve been trying to find any sort of link that might pull out a lead, and keep coming up empty. Not to mention I’ve got a stack of other cases with actual leads.” Hill leaned against the barrier.

“No leads at all?”

“Boring men with vanilla lives. Not even parking tickets. But Thorpe's wife was different.”

“She stood out?” Cas’s brow furrowed and Hill seemed surprised that Cas had anything to say. Probably because Cas had been hanging back, drinking his cup of coffee.

Hill’s thick eyebrows raised. “Fiesty woman. Near impossible to get a hold of unless you can catch her at her studio.”

“An artist?” Cas asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“No, she teaches ballroom.”

Castiel stared down at his still too full hands, and Dean took the coffee cup from him, trying not to smile. The cup was almost empty, so he dropped it into the trash can, ignoring the strangled sound coming from Cas’s mouth. “Sorry,” Dean said, “My partner practically needs coffee in an IV.”

“I’m on my fifth of the morning, so I sympathize.” He passed the file over to Dean. “Copier’s down the hall. I’d send you to the break room, but the stuff they brew here is basically mud.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so accommodating,” Cas said in a low voice, but not quite low enough for Hill not to hear.

“Anything to get this albatross off my neck.”

Dean held up the file, quirking his head towards the door. “Thanks, Hill.” As soon as they were in the hall, Dean glanced at Cas. “Albatross you get?”

“It’s the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” Castiel dug his hands in his pockets. “I’m shocked you understood the reference.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long day.

**

All the men had vanished before they ever made it home, so there was no need to really look around. Without Sam, Dean was the one having to be polite and comforting. Cas had come a long way from shouting at people, but he couldn’t exactly make people open up during interviews. Which made no sense. Cas could talk to any random person for a good long time- Dean was pretty sure that the girl who worked at the diner back in Lebanon knew absolutely everything about Cas’s garden. The same way Cas knew everything about her boyfriend.

This had been the longest four hours Dean had spent on Earth.

Cas groaned as he slid into the front seat. “I don’t want to talk to anyone else today.”

“We still have Mrs. Thorpe to talk to.” Dean rubbed his temples.

“It’s going to be as much of a waste of time as the others were.” Cas leaned across the seat, grabbing Dean’s wrist to look at his watch. Dean tried to lean back, but still found himself with a noseful of slightly sweaty hair. “It’s already three in the afternoon.”

“What the hell, Cas? Just ask me what time it is or look at your own phone.” Cas pulled away, and Dean started reciting an exorcism, just to get his thoughts away from the smell of sweat and motel shampoo. “So what if it’s three?”

“I’m hungry, and I’d rather not face another woman stuck somewhere between hope and grief on an empty stomach.”

“We just had lunch.” Dean started the engine, his eyes on the street so that they could pull out. “Fuck, I’m turning into Sam. Don’t you have a protein bar or something in your bag?” Of course, if he was more like Sam he would have asked why Cas was having a hard time with the interviews. They just needed to make it through the day, then he could ask.

“I probably do.” Cas lifted the bag, a leather messenger bag that they’d found at a thrift store. At first it’d been something he’d teased Cas about, but it meant that they had something vaguely professional to carry case files in. And it was a little Indiana Jones. “We aren’t getting anywhere.”

“I thought I was the pessimist,” Dean said with a laugh. “Eat.”

“You need to turn left at the light if we’re going to the dance studio,” Cas said, mid bite. “Sorry.” He actually seemed mildly embarrassed to have his mouth full, when they’d had plenty of conversations like this. Starting with Famine.

“Where’s the next turn?”

“No more turns. The studio’s approximately five miles on the right. There’s a Starbucks on the way.”

“Addict.” He could see the white and green sign up ahead.

Cas laughed. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Starbucks, shaking his head. “Whatever. Go get yourself a cup.” As Cas slid out, he leaned towards the open door. “Get me a cup of water. Not one of those $5 bottles that save the world. Just a cup of water.”

**

Dean wasn’t sure what he expected from Ms. Thorpe.  Dean just knew that he was not prepared for her to be in her mid 20s, with eyes dark enough he couldn’t tell pupil from iris, wrapped in a tight black dress.  “We have a few questions about your husband’s disappearance.”

“Look, I just don’t have the time right now,” Ms. Thorpe said as she looked from Cas to Dean, red lips drawn in a tight line.  “Not that I don’t want to help the FBI find my husband, but I have a beginner’s ballroom class starting in five minutes.  It’s a half hour, so if you can wait until afterwards, I’d appreciate it.”  Her mouth softened as she glanced back at the clock.  “He’s been gone three weeks, and I have to pay the bills somehow.”

“We can wait,” Cas said immediately, taking off his trenchcoat to lay it over the back of the chairs along the wall in the lobby area.  Which wasn’t so much a lobby as a line of chairs near the desk with the sign-in sheet.

“We can come back,” Dean said in as low and sharp a tone as he could manage without catching Roxanne Thorpe’s attention.  While watching her to make sure she wasn’t listening, he realized that the backside was as good of a view as the front.

Cas sat down, looking down at the notebook in his hand.  “Nobody is going to make you dance, Agent,” he said, blue eyes locked on Dean’s, challenging him to say anything.  “It’s better than standing outside waiting. Or sitting in the car.”  Three months ago, Cas wouldn’t have found out a subtle way to back Dean into a corner to get what he wanted.  He wouldn’t have called Dean agent, either.  

Dean smiled, sitting down two chairs from Agent Buckingham. It was strange seeing him without the trenchcoat. Before the Fall, the trenchcoat never came off. They hadn’t been on a case yet where it had been too hot to even think about wearing it.

“I can feel you staring.” Cas continued reading. “Did I spill coffee on my shirt again?”

“Just not used to seeing you without the trenchcoat.”

Cas glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t wear it that much anymore.”  It was the truth, Dean felt like an idiot for phrasing it that way.  Most days Cas wore jeans, t-shirts and whatever jacket he could steal from of Dean’s. He still hadn’t found a jacket he liked yet, but even if he had, Dean knew he wouldn’t object.

“I meant with the suit.  You still wear it all the time when you wear the suit.”  Dean leaned across the trenchcoat to read Cas’s much too neat handwriting, careful not to kick the cup of coffee that Cas had placed safely under the chair.  Did all angels have perfect penmanship, or was that just Cas? “Did anything new appear there?”

“I just wanted to think.  I have some ideas about what we might be dealing with since the men all have certain personality traits in common,” his voice lowered as people began to walk in and prepare for the class.  “I can’t confirm anything until we talk to her, though.”

“What’s your read on her?”  The music began, and she started demonstrating a simple box step with one of the men, moving gracefully.  Out of all the wives, she did stand out. He could see what Hannigan had been trying to say.  None of the wives they’d interviewed had been anything other than normal, looks-wise.  But she was beautiful.  Tall, with long, lean lines about her.  

“She doesn’t seem guilty,” Cas said, catching Dean’s attention.  He leaned towards Dean, eyes on the class.  “She reminds me of you, actually.”  

Before Dean could ask him to elaborate, Cas froze.  She was walking towards them, her dark eyes locked on Cas in an almost predatory manner.  “Agent Buckingham.  We have too many women in the class, so I’m drafting you.”

Cas sputtered.  “But we’re on the...”

“I’d rather not have someone sit out and you at least look interested,” she said as she glanced at Dean.  “In the class, at least.”

“You’re the one who wanted to stay, Agent Buckingham,” Dean smirked, gesturing towards the floor with one hand, taking the notepad from Cas’s grip with the other.  “I’ll watch the trench and your coffee.”

“Oh, jacket off.” Ms. Thorpe said, red lips pursed as she rolled a remote control around in her hand.  “It gets warm in here.”

Cas frowned as he removed it, carefully laying down the jacket, and Dean had to fight back a wave of nervousness.  Cas had insisted on having a holster to look official- he watched too many cop shows in his downtime, but at least it looked right.  When she looked at it while he rolled up his sleeves, the dark-haired man simply smiled.  “I’m on duty.”

“As long as the safety’s on, G-man, I don’t care.” With an eyeroll, she turned.

“Agent,” Cas said gruffly as he walked after her.  Dean relaxed, pulling out his phone to shoot some video. He had a feeling that this would be the moment he’d be able to tease Cas about, and didn’t want to miss it.

Cas was paired off with the odd woman out, a woman in her late fifties. He couldn’t figure out who seemed more annoyed to be paired with the other.

“Let’s start with a simple waltz, shall we?” Ms. Thorpe stood in the middle of the class, and began demonstrating the basic step. “Men, you need to keep a strong frame. Feel the beat of the music, and stop looking at the floor, Eric. All you’re going to do is step on your poor fiancee’s feet.”

Dean had been hoping for a trainwreck. Not that he thought that Cas would be a klutz or unable to figure it out. This just seemed like one of the things he’d be uncomfortable with- having an arm around an annoyed woman, trying to lead in an unfamiliar dance. But he wasn’t uncomfortable. After the first few minutes, Cas’s shoulders relaxed and he was good. He was moving like he’d been taking lessons his entire life. The longer Dean watched Cas negotiate his partner around their corner of the dance floor, the more it made sense. Sure, Cas was a warrior, and that wasn’t something that changed now that he was Grace-less. He still moved the way he had before, like a cobra, fluid and quick. Always having a battle plan in his head, so that every action was filled with intent. Which seemed like what ballroom was.

Not that Dean knew much about ballroom beyond what he’d seen in Dirty Dancing.

The waltz, the basic steps of some swing dance- Cas picked them all up more quickly than the people who’d apparently been showing up for weeks.

The music stopped, and Ms. Thorpe clapped her hands together. Dean sat up, stopping the recording. It didn’t feel like it had been a half hour.  “That’s today’s class, I hope to see you all next week.”

Cas rubbed the back of his neck as he made his way back towards Dean, trying to avoid anyone from the class.

“Man, I had no idea you could dance.”

“I didn’t know, either.”  Cas’s eyes were bright as he unrolled his sleeves, buttoning the cuff of the white shirt before he pulled the jacket on. He didn’t look at Dean, but looked at his reflection in the mirrored walls.  “I should get this fitted or get a new suit.  While it was his nicest suit, I don’t think he ever thought about getting anything tailored.”

“After all this time, now you care?”

“We’ve met young detectives with nicer suits.  This just makes me look sloppy.”  Running a hand through his dark hair, he sat down, holding his other hand out expectantly.  “My notepad?”

“Oh,” Dean had forgotten he was still holding it.  He dropped it in Cas’s outstretched hand.  “There.  So, was it fun?”

“It was,” the former angel admitted, as he opened up the notepad.  “I might want to try that again.” He looked at Dean, the hint of a smile vanishing. “In my spare time, of course.” To anyone listening, it probably sounded flat. But he knew Cas long enough to hear the wry tone at the end. Spare time. Cas had a point. They didn’t exactly have reliable free time, and most of the time they were in cities too small to have anything like this.

“Well, you never know,” Dean said, with more hope than he’d meant it to.

“Agent Buckingham, Agent McVie?”  Ms. Thorpe stood at the far end of the room.  “Anytime you’re ready, I’m ready.”

Dean stood, looking over at Cas.  “You want to take lead on this?”

Cas shook his head.  “When she was adjusting my frame, she asked if you were as married to the job as I am,” he added in a quiet tone, not quite making eye contact with Dean. "You would have better luck."

“Did she?”  Dean tried to smile, even though none of this made sense. While it was a relief that someone found him attractive, they were in the middle of a hunt, her husband was one of the missing men.  And there was Cas.  There. And Dean couldn’t figure out why Cas would even bring it up.  “Well, you seemed to be onto something before she dragged you into class, so you go ahead.”

Cas nodded, clearing his throat as they walked across the room.  “Ms. Thorpe.”

“Roxanne, please.”  She looked at them with a warm smile, but sad eyes.  “I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already gone over with the police.”

“Just humor us, Roxanne,” Dean said, trying to flash his most reassuring smile as he reached out to squeeze her hand.  “Fresh eyes and all.”

She nodded, pulling her hand away so that she could pick up her water bottle again.  “Wren was a bouncer at a strip club.  He used to work at the club where I taught salsa, but it closed down last month.  Just not enough people go to clubs out here unless they play country music.”  She sighed.  “He used to stay late with the other staff and have a few drinks and then come home.  But one night he didn’t.”

“How long have you been married?”  Cas asked, an odd shift in the conversation that actually caught her off guard.  Roxanne’s grip on the water bottle loosened, and she suddenly looked worried.  “I’m not trying to suggest anything. But we’re trying to find any link between the disappearances.”  Sam had put together a list for Cas to work off of in the beginning.   _Did they have any enemies?  Did you notice anything suspicious?  Did you happen to smell sulfur?_ Not that Cas was bad at getting information, he did know how to interrogate, but interviewing family members hadn’t been his strong suit.

“Not very long.  We only barely met before we got married, which sounds crazy, I know. But he just understood me in a way that nobody has in awhile.  We were married for two months before he vanished.  I guess it means it’s three months now?”  She took a long drink from her water bottle.  “He used to walk me out to my car after I was done on the dance floor since it was late, and drunks get grabby.  Everything just sort of fit.  I fell before I even knew it had happened.”

“Does he have any enemies that you know of?”  Cas continued to jot in the notebook with a pen that Dean didn’t recognize, but it must have been stolen from some motel they’d stayed in.

“The worst thing that ever happened was that he got in a fight with one guy he kicked out for touching one of the strippers.  I mean, he was a good guy.  Used to say the sweetest things.”

“Did you notice anything odd about the day he disappeared?”

“He’d been meditating a lot that week. The day he vanished, technically the day before, I slept in late. I mean, we both sleep late- since the club’s hours went late, and I don’t teach classes in the morning. But he was already up, and I could smell the incense he’d been burning, and there was a note like he always did when he left before I woke up.  He called me when his shift was over, which was around 2am, and said he was going to stay for one last drink with the guys.  It was all pretty normal. But when I woke up at 4 am and he wasn't there, and wasn't answering his phone, I knew something was wrong.”

Cas nodded.  “If you don’t mind, we’d like to look at your home tomorrow.  I don’t recall seeing anything from the local LEOs about it.”

Local LEOs. Dean pulled out his phone, opening up a text message to Charlie. _Any way for you to hack our cable so that Cas can’t watch cop shows? No rush._ He slipped it back into his pocket, looking back up at the wife.

“No, they never looked at our apartment. It won’t be a problem.”  She smiled, a little too hopefully as she glanced up at the clock, taking a sharp breath.  “I have a private lesson starting soon, is that everything?”

“I can’t think of anything that couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” Dean said quickly, they had her address on the missing persons report.  “Any time too early to stop by?”

“I’m not much of a morning person, but I’ll put on a pot of coffee on around 10.”  She set down the water and turned to look in the mirror, checking her lipstick.

“That’s fine,” Cas said, his head tilting slightly as he turned to look at Dean.

They walked out of the dance studio, stepping to the side to let a well-dressed man pass them.  “Guessing that’s the private lesson,” Dean said.

At the bottom of the stairs, Cas stopped, throw out what little was left in his coffee cup.  “I’m not entirely sure that Thorpe fits the pattern of the other three men.”

“She is much younger than all the other wives, and he’s about Sam’s age. But I sorta heard the same story in there. Decent guy, madly in love with his wife.”

“I know-”

“But, you have your idea face right now,” Dean wasn’t sure why he phrased it that way.  It wasn’t like he stared at Cas for long periods of time to figure out what he was thinking.  He exhaled.  Okay, it wasn’t like he wanted Cas to know that he had.

Cas didn’t even seem to notice anything other than what Dean meant. “I know I saw a summoning spell at some point in time that needed the bones and blood of faithful men.”

“Some point in time? That’s sort of vague.”

“I’ve read a lot, Dean.”

“So what, sometime in the last milennia?”

Cas shrugged, the gesture still looking awkward.  “It was a book, so it was recent.  Though I’m not sure that my definition of recent is anything like yours.”

“So what, sometime in the last five hundred years?” Cas’s glance up at the sky didn’t seem a denial, more like an attempt to hide his embarrassment that it was true. Dean pulled out his phone, dialing Sam.  “Hey.”

“Everything alright?”

“Fine.”  Dean wasn’t sure what else to say. It wasn’t bad. But this was when things were okay, when they had a problem to keep them occupied.  “Cas has a new research project for you.”

“Then why didn’t he call me?”

“Because I just decided you were going to research it for us?” He started to walk towards the Impala, waiting a second for Cas to catch up.

“We should pick up pizza on the way back to the room.”

Dean nodded, as he pulled the keys to the Impala from his pocket. "I'm not getting green peppers on half. I can still taste it even if the pieces aren’t on there.”

Sam sighed from his end of the phone. “I’m still here, Dean. What do you need me to look up?”

Dean put it on speaker as he climbed into the car and reached across to unlock the passenger door. “Cas can tell you.”

Cas sat down, picking up the phone. “It’s a spell related to pagan gods, though I have no idea when or where I read it. Just that it was a long time ago. It called for the blood and bones of a faithful man.”

Dean tried not to grimace, but failed. “That’s disgusting.”

“Any idea which region?” Sam actually sounded excited, though that was definitely the challenge, not the ingredient.

“Not yet, but few Eastern religions require bones or blood, so you can eliminate them.”

“Which only eliminates about 1/8 of the books in the Library,” Dean said.

“Good luck, Sam.” Cas ended the call without waiting for Sam to respond, glaring at Dean. He still wasn't very good with phone calls- a lot of times he didn’t say hello either, but considering Cas really only called him and Sam and texted everyone else, it wasn't a problem. “It’s something, at least. And if I can’t have green peppers, I want onions.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a larger-verse, and I'll be adding to it bit by bit, none of which will be in chronological order. (If you like, you can find me on Tumblr, I tend to post stuff there first- wingedkiare.tumblr.com) This particular chapter was edited by yours truly, but I didn't have a second set of eyes- if you see a mistake, feel free to point it out so I can fix it.
> 
> Music mentioned:  
> Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie  
> Summertime Killer - Luis Bacalov
> 
> This particular police station is based off the one in the town I live in. We went on a tour of it last year, and it was sad how normal office-ey it was. CUBICLES.


	3. Roxanne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well, that was new. Usually Cas sulked because he lost the coin toss and didn’t get to watch the forensic show he liked. Dean tried to watch it, but nobody ever seemed to get around to having sex. The two main characters just stared at each other all the time, and frankly, he got enough of that to last him a lifetime. "Back right up, Cas. You can't just change the subject."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Summer break and being a stay at home mom really isn't a great combination for having uninterrupted writing time. But I will not be abandoning this story (and I already have drafts for the next two chapters) - so don't go anywhere!

Cas claimed the bed closest to the TV. It was the norm when he had to share a room, sort of an unspoken agreement. Cas got to watch TV when he couldn’t sleep, and Dean rarely wound up with crumbs in his bed. They were both sprawled on their beds with the box of pizza on the edge of Cas’s, waiting for Dr Sexy MD to start, when Dean remembered something that Cas had said back at the dance studio.

"Hey. You said that Roxanne Thorpe reminded you of me."

Cas took another bite of pizza, taking time to chew it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did I?" He laughed, which still wasn’t a frequent thing, but Dean had heard it enough to know that it sounded forced. "I missed last week's episode, what happened?”

Well, that was new. Usually Cas sulked because he lost the coin toss and didn’t get to watch the forensic show he liked. Dean tried to watch it, but nobody ever seemed to get around to having sex. The two main characters just stared at each other all the time, and frankly, he got enough of that to last him a lifetime. "Back right up, Cas. You can't just change the subject."

"You do it all the time."

Maybe not all the time, but often enough that there wasn't a point to argue it. "You hate Dr. Sexy."

The dark-haired man took a pull of beer. "I am acquiring a taste for it," he said, his jaw set.

Dean grabbed another slice of pizza, debating whether or not pushing it was worth it. Cas wasn't the kind of person to avoid anything, not completely. Even during Cas’s stupid plot to swallow up the souls in Purgatory (which was definitely on the Don’t Mention List), he didn't avoid answering questions, he just lied. 

As the title card flashed, Dean decided not to say anything. He was a coward, but at least he was a coward who won the battle of what show to watch.

At the commercial break halfway through the show, Cas closed the box of pizza and set it on Dean's bed. "I'm taking a shower."

“Gonna use up all the hot water?” Dean laughed, pulling out another piece of pizza. Even if Cas did, all it meant was that Dean would have to take a cold shower. Considering the flood of images of Cas stripping down to get into the shower, a cold one wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Maybe,” Cas said with a smirk. Sam claimed that was Dean's fault, and while he was willing to take the blame for a lot of Cas’s less than admirable habits the smirk was all Cas’s own. He knew there were plenty of times he’d seen a subtle version of it, it was just more obvious now that he was human.

Two of the interns were arguing. Something inane, and normally Dean would listen. But he could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and spend most of his time trying not to think about what Cas would look like in the shower. Even if there was any hot water left, he was going to need to take a cold one.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Dean kept his eyes on the TV. Surgery. Not Cas. “Is there any hot water left?”

Cas snorted, and Dean could see him flop onto the bed out of the corner of his eye. “It was a five minute shower, Dean.”

The clock confirmed it, and Dean tossed the box of pizza back on Cas’s bed. “Here.”

“Is it safe to assume they went ahead with the risky procedure that would result in everyone being sued and the hospital shut down?"

Dean looked over, trying not to laugh. “Right. Because your forensic whatever finding all that evidence at crime scenes is so realistic."

“Point taken.” Cas was stretched out on the bed, wearing his running shorts, a tshirt in his hand. "Fictional Seattle is a dangerous place. They've had what, two plane crashes, a terrorist attack, a tsunami and-"

"There's a reason it's called a guilty pleasure, dude. You don’t watch it to think.” Dean exhaled, noticing that Cas's body was still stiff with tension. "You alright?"

“Fine.” He sat up, reaching for his beer bottle. "I don't really like this show."

“No shit,” Dean laughed. "Figure out how to answer my question yet?"

“What’s the saying? Like a dog after bone?” Cas said before finishing off the last of his beer. “Maybe it was the way she kept staring at you when she thought you weren’t paying any attention.”

“Liar,” Dean said. “Now shut up, or I really am going to miss the show.”

Cas flipped open his notebook, rereading his notes for what Dean guessed was at least the fifth time of the day. “And wouldn’t that be a shame.”

“Nothing new’s going to appear in there.”

“There might be some hint of something I didn’t pick up on.”

Dean went back to watching the episode. The Chief was busy arguing with Piccolo, and it took Dean a little while to figure out what the argument was about. He’d been distracted.

_“This could have been a career ender for all of us, Piccolo. You’re lucky it saved her life.”_

Castiel started laughing from the other bed, a rare deep one that didn't seem like it was going to end any time soon. “I had no idea. I was just being facetious," he gasped.

“It’s like the fourth time you've done this. Sure you aren’t still able to read minds?” Dean sat up as soon as the laughter came to an abrupt stop. “Shit. I didn’t mean-“

Cas climbed out of bed, his face devoid of any emotion. “You should shower.”

“Cas.”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just going to grab another beer and switch to the news.” He exhaled, yanking open the mini fridge. Judging by the tightness of his jaw, Cas was about to snap. Time to back off.

“Sure.” Dean grabbed a clean shirt and boxers from his bag.

**

It didn’t take long for Dean to fall asleep. The drone of the evening news anchors was enough to make him nod off, even though he knew that Cas would probably still be up long after he finally turned the TV off. It was just the way it was. 

He’d been dreaming about the dock again. Cas standing by his side, making the lake as bright as the midday sun, when sobs broke through the calm.

Cas was having another nightmare. It wasn’t the first time he’d been woken up by them. When Cas had his first nightmare in the bunker, Cas had turned up at Dean’s door, saying that he didn’t know how to get back to sleep. So they’d parked themselves in front of the TV they’d set up in part of the library, and Cas had fallen back to sleep on a couch. After that, Dean had taken to sleeping with the door to his room open just so he could hear Cas, but it was the first time they’d been in the same room. Or that he’d woken up before Cas.

Dean sat up, groggily making his way across the short distance between the beds. “Cas.” When he didn’t get a reply, Dean sat at the edge of the bed, hoping that it would jostle Cas awake.

It didn’t, and Cas kept talking. Sounded like slurred Enochian. Dean climbed up, scooting a little closer towards Cas so that he could rub slow circles over Cas’s back. He’d convinced the dark-haired man that it wasn’t weird. That it had been something he’d done for Sam. Which was true, but not. It’s what he used to do when Sam was little, but that had stopped when Sammy hit 7.

Cas stilled, and the sobs stopped. Dean waited for Cas’s breathing to even out and slow, but it stopped as Cas shifted. Shit.

“Dean?”

“Nightmare. Okay?” Those were the only words Dean could put together, and he hoped that Cas would understand.

Cas pushed one of the pillows Dean’s way and rolled onto his stomach, moving further across the bed. Dean was pretty sure that was Cas’s way of telling him to go back to his own bed, and tried to slide off the bed as carefully as he could.

Cas’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Stay.”

Dean kept staring at Cas’s hand. “That bad?”

A grunt was the answer, which Dean guessed was a yes, so he arranged the pillow behind him with his free hand and settled back against the headboard. Cas’s breath evened out soon enough, and he let go of Dean’s wrist.

Stay. Dean shifted to make himself a little more comfortable sitting up, and let himself drift off to sleep.

**

When the alarm went off, Dean reached out to turn it off. Cas was already up. Or gone. The bed was empty, and Dean took advantage of being alone to stretch. He hadn’t moved much, and his neck ached from sleeping while sitting up.

But they’d both slept, which was important. He told himself that was the most important thing, not that he could almost feel the warmth of Cas’s fingers around his wrist.

The door to the motel room opened, and Cas walked in wearing his running clothes, holding two cups of coffee and his iPod. “Good, you’re up.”

“You went for a run?” Dean covered his face with his hand, pretending to wipe away any slobber from his face or gunk from his eyes. He didn’t even want to see Cas’s reaction to such a stupid question. Of course he’d gone for a run. The sweaty t-shirt, the iPod.

“It clears my head after nightmares.” The dark haired man exhaled, setting everything on the counter. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Hey, as long as I get my four hours,” Dean said. Cas didn’t smile. He leaned against the counter, his foot tapping nervously. “Besides, it’s only fair. I know we don’t really talk about before, but I always had a feeling you tried to take the edge of my nightmares when you could.”

“I did.” Cas refused to make eye contact, staring down at his mud splattered sneakers.

“Then I’m returning the favor, it’s-” It’s what friends do, Dean was about to say, but the words felt wrong in his head. “It’s what we do. Right?”

“Right.” Cas glanced at the coffee. “I got you a cup.”

“How does that work when you’re on a run? I was with you when you bought all that stuff, and they don’t have any pockets.”

“I put ten dollars in my arm band behind my iPod. It’s where I keep your phone number with your alias in case anything happens.”

“What?” Dean walked over to pick up the cup of coffee, trying not to get too close. It wasn’t for the usual reasons, either. He’d come to enjoy the fleeting feeling of Cas’s arm up against his, but right now Cas’s shirt was actually drenched with sweat.

“Sam informed me that I shouldn’t go for a run without having contact information. He had a friend in college who was hit by a car while on a run, and it took hours before he woke up enough to give them a phone number.”

“I’m your emergency contact?”

“I suppose I could have put Sam or Charlie’s numbers, but she’s several states away and Sam would have to steal a car to get here,” Cas said dryly.

Dean had nothing to say to that. He definitely wasn’t awake enough.

“If you have any more stupid questions, I need more coffee before I can answer them.” With a sigh, the darkhaired man walked towards the bathroom. “Touch mine and I will break your arm.”

“I’m not suicidal.” Even with a long breakfast, it was still too early to talk to Roxanne Thorpe. “Am I allowed to touch the laptop? Just looking up hours for the bars.”

“It’s fine,” Cas shouted through the door. For a guy who had lived for millennia without possessions, Cas was pretty particular about the ones he was beginning to accumulate.

Of course, Dean could admit that Cas’s possessiveness over the laptop might have more to do with Dean killing his own computer two months back after accidentally knocking a beer over the keyboard. He set down the coffee cup, making sure it was far from the laptop.

While Cas had noticed that the personalities of the men were similar, Dean had noticed a different pattern. Three were last seen in bars. One was last seen in a diner. All had been a regular stop for the men on the way home from work. While the bars wouldn’t open until the afternoon, they could go to the diner for breakfast and see if anyone saw something.

The files on the missing men were all thing when it came to where the men had been seen last. No names of witnesses, just locations and times.

The bathroom door opened, and Cas walked out, towel wrapped around his waist. His hair had gotten long enough that it looked like it might actually start to curl. “Forgot to grab my clothes.”

Dean looked down at the file. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Cas in just a towel, or in a pair or shorts or pants slung low on his hips. He was pretty sure he’d memorized the sharp lines of Cas’s hipbones in the last two months. “I thought you were worried about your laptop.”

Cas paused in front of the dresser, grabbing a pair of boxers. “I trust you. What are we doing today?”

“Redmond vanished from a diner, so we can get breakfast there and see if anyone saw him.”

“Good. I’m starving.” Cas walked back into the bathroom with the boxers in one hand, holding his towel with the other, the door shutting behind him after a moment.

Dean glanced down at Cas’s cell phone, which still had the running tracker app up. Four miles, at 10 1/2 minute mile average pace. Faster and further than what he usually saw. The nightmares must have been bad.

His own cellphone beeped. Charlie. _No dice. Sam already asked if I could block Dr Sexy - I said no to him. Grow a pair, Winchester._

It was good advice. Just not the right time.

***

Cas sighed, pushing his scrambled eggs around the plate. “I should have ordered the pancakes.”

“I thought you like scrambled eggs.”

“These are overcooked. Yours aren’t,” the dark haired man huffed. Dean fought back a smile, putting one of his pancakes on the plate his toast had been on. “What are you doing?”

“Breakfast’s the most important meal of the day.” He pushed the plate forward.

Cas fixed him with an annoyed glare. “Did this ever work on Sam?”

“When he was little. But it worked with-” Dean caught himself before he said Ben’s name, but from the way that Cas looked away, it was obvious the point had come across. “Look, you can’t go on a run and survive on three cups of coffee and two pieces of toast.”

The waitress swung by the table with the coffee pot. “Need anything, gentlemen?”

Dean reached into his coat for his credentials. “I think we’re fine on coffee, but I wanted to know if you knew anything about Kurt Redmond.”

The middle aged woman sighed at the name. “Oh, Kurt. He’s one of our regulars. Sits right over there for a cup of coffee and either fries or a slice of pie on his way home. Been awfully quiet without him here.”

Cas set down his cup of coffee. “You were there the day he disappeared?”

“I’m here most days. But yeah. He sat right down there at the end of the counter, every day after work. Had a cup and a slice. Answered email after email on that phone of his.”

Dean nodded. “Did anything strike you as odd about that day?”

“Not really. There was a girl here whose car broke down, but that was it.”

Cas pulled out his notepad and pen. “Do you remember anything about this girl?”

“She was pretty. Young. Long dark hair. One of those polite girls from the Deep South.” She turned. “Frank, honey, was the camera fixed before Kurt disappeared?”

“You have a security camera?” Dean shifted in the booth, looking around to see where the camera was aimed. It looked like it had coverage of most of the diner, but was focused on the cash register.

“Sure do. Middle of the night we get hungry and drunk frat kids. My son insisted we get the fancy kind that writes to discs.”

“I don’t remember seeing that in the police report,” Cas began flipping back through his notes.

“The detective didn’t ask.”

“Figures.” Dean nodded. “Is there any way we can get a look at the disc from the day he vanished?”

“Of course.” The waitress looked down at Cas’s barely touched eggs. “Did you not like the eggs, sugar?”

Cas looked down, his face a little flushed. Dean couldn’t decide whether he was embarrassed at being caught or that she’d called him sugar. “I didn’t want to be rude. But they were a little overcooked.”

“Well, that won’t do. Want me to have Frank whip you up some new ones or bring out something else?”

“Some more bacon?”

“Sure thing.” The waitress walked away.

Dean picked up his cup of coffee. “You’re taking the pancake anyways?”

“You can have the bacon.” Cas pulled the plate with the pancake towards him, shoving the notepad off towards the side.

***

They sat in the Impala, looking at the laptop’s screen as Cas tried to figure out how to skip to the time they needed.

“Stop trying to use the keys, just click in the-“

“I can figure it out on my own, Dean.” Cas swatted his hand away, brow furrowed.

“I’m just saying-“

“There. I told you I could figure it out.” Cas pressed play, letting it go forward at double speed. Kurt Redmond sat at the counter, slice of pie and coffee in front of him. Shawna, the waitress, came by and chatted with him.

A darkhaired woman walked into the diner, sitting down a couple of seats from Kurt. Shawna walked over to get her order, and the girl held up her phone. The camera didn’t get a clear view of her, but from her body language it looked like she was embarrassed about her phone being dead. Shawna pointed over to the phone on the wall, and the girl jumped up from the stool to use it.

While the camera had a better view of the register than the rest of the diner, it still wasn’t a good view of her. The way her head was ducked, it was impossible to get a clear shot of her.

“She seems to be aware of where the camera is,” Cas said. “That’s unusual.”

“Unless you’re guilty.”

“Or someone trying to stay hidden. Like us.”

“That, too.” Dean kept watching her. “She’s wearing long sleeves.”

“So?”

“It’s summer.” She wasn’t even dressed like a business woman or anyone you would expect would have to wear something with long sleeves. What little they could see, she looked like a college student, wearing shorts.

She finished her phone call, and went back to the stool where an order of fries waited for her. She finished them, put down some money, which was pushed back at her by the waitress. She left, and Kurt walked out of the diner with her.

“And that’s all we have,” Cas said as he started the video again. “A woman wearing long sleeves in the summer, who managed to avoid cameras.”

“Why are you watching it again?”

“It might be nothing,” Cas said, his voice dipping lower. “There’s just something about the way she moves.”

If it had been Sam, Dean would have started teasing him about having a crush on the mystery woman in the video. Asking if he wanted to be alone with the laptop. The words were there, but he couldn’t bring himself to smirk. Or tease. All he could do was remind himself to breathe and that Cas would probably beat the crap out of him if he threw the laptop out the window of the car. “Time to go see the dance teacher?”

It took a full thirty seconds before Cas looked up. “What?”

“Roxanne Thorpe. She invited us over for coffee so that we could find out who her husband was.” Dean slid back behind the wheel, starting up the engine. “Can’t believe you forgot your girlfriend already.”

The laptop slammed shut, and Cas seemed to be packing everything up. “You’re the one who kept ogling her.”

“Ogling?” Dean laughed. The word sounded so strange, and felt weird in his mouth. “She isn’t my type, anyways.”

Cas laughed in return, but there wasn’t any warmth to it. “She’s exactly your type.” He reached across, turning up the radio to end the conversation.

Dean kept his eyes on the street signs. He could turn down the radio and tell Cas exactly why she wasn’t his type, but if Cas had wanted to talk he wouldn’t have turned it up in the first place. And talking to Cas when he didn’t want to listen was pointless.

Roxanne Thorpe lived in a small bungalow style home. Nothing fancy, but there was a small porch and a chain link fence that surrounded the yard. It was neatly trimmed, and Dean wondered if she mowed the lawn herself. Cas shoved his phone into his pocket, as soon as the Impala stopped. “What?”

Dean shook his head, wondering who Cas had been texting. Charlie, probably. “Nothing.”

On the sidewalk leading to the porch, Cas whispered, “I thought that one of us could talk with her while the other looked around for anything useful.”

“Good idea.” Dean knocked twice on the door.

The door opened, and Roxanne Thorpe looked up sleepily, wearing a tanktop and what were either really short workout shorts or underwear. “Oh, fuck.” The door closed. “I need pants.” Underwear, then.

Cas leaned towards Dean, uncomfortably close. “Maybe we should both talk to her.”

The door opened again, and she was wearing pants, with a large hoodie despite the heat. “Sorry. I work a second job after the studio closes, and it sorta slipped my mind.” There was a slow drawl in her voice that hadn’t been there during the dance class.

“Where do you work?” Cas asked, managing an innocent tone as they walked inside. The bungalow was small. There was a small, but comfortable looking living room, and a narrow kitchen nearby.

“There’s a bar a couple blocks from here. Winston’s. I wait tables at night.” She walked towards the kitchen, a tiny little galley style that would barely fit two people. “I think I promised you coffee yesterday.”

“Coffee would be fine,” Dean said, catching Cas’s attention. Winston’s was one of the bars on their list of places to visit- it had been the favorite haunt of John Sullivan, who probably disappeared during one of her shifts.

Dean looked around the room, at the crowded cluster of furniture. “Ms. Thorpe, you said your husband was meditating the morning before he disappeared?”

She walked to the doorway, pointing towards the hallway to the rest of the house. “Oh. In the spare room. Used to be a practice area for me before I got the studio, and when he moved in, we turned it into a meditation room.”

“What was his regular routine?”

“He’d get up and stretch or meditate. Play video games until I had to go to the studio. He’d go to to work, and have a drink or two afterwards. Then he’d come home.”

“But he had a regular routine he followed.” Dean gestured to Cas to write all of this down.

She turned from the coffee pot, leaning against the counter. “Like clockwork. I loved it. He sort of kept me on track. Do you think he’s still alive?”

“Do you?” Cas was so sincere, it didn’t seem like an interview.

“I hope he is. But it’s been so long. I’m a realist.” She grabbed three mugs with one hand, the coffee pot with the other, setting them on the coffee table. “I’ll be back with the milk and sugar if you need it.”

“Just bring the sugar for my partner,” Dean said. He realized that it might be taken wrong, but she just smiled sunnily and came back with the sugar.

“I know you have more questions.” She sank down on the chair opposite the couch that Cas and Dean were sitting on, pulling her legs up under her.

“You mentioned you work at Winston’s.”

“Yes.” She took a sip of the coffee. “What does that have to do with Wren?”

“Did you know John Sullivan?”

“Who?” She shifted, but not in a guilty way. To Dean it looked like she knew what he was about to say, but wanted it not to be true.

“He’s one of the missing men. The last place he was seen was at Winston’s.” He took the file from Cas, opening it on the coffee table so that she could see the picture. “I thought you’d be up to date on the case.”

She reached over, pulling out another one of them. “I have to keep functioning. Hard to do that if you read or watch the coverage. I just knew that more men had vanished. I’ve seen this man before.”

Cas set down his mug, and Dean wasn’t surprised to see it was already empty. “That’s Kurt Redmond.” He tapped another picture. “That is John Sullivan. Does he look familiar?”

“Double Scotch.” She nodded. “I didn’t really know anyone’s names yet, just drink orders for the regulars.” Roxanne pulled the picture of Kurt Redmond towards her. “Now I remember. My phone had died, and I had a nail in my tire. He kept me company until the tow truck came.”

Cas pulled the file towards him, pulling out the pictures of the other two men. “Do either of these men look familiar?”

“I’m not sure.” She put out her hand to grab Cas’s wrist. “Why are you asking me?”

“This isn’t exactly a small town. The odds of you seeing three of them on the days they disappeared-“

“You think I did this?” Her voice pitched up high as she pulled back in the chair. There hadn’t been anything about her reactions that didn’t seem genuine.

“No,” Dean said. “But it could be related to you. Do you have any enemies?”

Roxanne sighed, pulling out a bracelet of blue and clear stone beads. “I’m just a dance teacher. I don’t have any crazy exes, or anything.” She pulled the bracelet off her wrist, running it through her fingers.

Cas was watching her hands as he collected the pictures. “Can I use your bathroom?”

The question was enough to snap her out of whatever was going through her head. “Oh, sure. It’s just through the hallway.” She watched him squeeze past her, and Dean could already see him fishing his phone from his pocket.

When they were alone, Dean moved closer to her. “Can you think of anything unusual that’s happened in the last month? Strange smells, unexplained noises. Anything that you don’t think the police would have believed?”

Roxanne stared at her bracelet, fingers wrapping around the beads. “What night did John Sullivan vanish?”

“The 18th.” Dean’s phone buzzed once. A text message.

“One of the fuses blew that night in the bar. Didn’t affect the floor, but it knocked out power to the storeroom and the bathrooms.” Something else that wasn’t in the file.

Dean pulled out his phone to look at it. From Cas. _It’s a summoning ritual for an Orisha. The final ingredient needed is the blood of a priest or priestess._

He looked at the bracelet, remembering a different colored one in New Orleans. “How long have you been a priestess serving Yemaya?”

She let go of the bracelet, dark eyes looking up at him. Roxanne Thorpe looked like an animal backed into a corner, and she didn’t seem like the type of woman to back down. “You aren’t FBI.”

One hand started to reach around the back of the armchair, and Dean jumped up, gun drawn. She had one of her own. “We aren’t the bad guys.” He took a deep breath. “Cas!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a larger-verse, and I'll be adding to it bit by bit, none of which will be in chronological order (except for this adventure). (If you like, you can find me on Tumblr, I tend to post stuff there first- wingedkiare.tumblr.com) 
> 
> Music mentioned:  
> Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie  
> Roxanne - The Police


	4. I'm not dead! - not an actual chapter

Hey guys, this isn't an actual chapter... but there will be a chapter going up soon/

Sorry for vanishing, but it's been pretty busy IRL - and I was sort of distracted by Season 9. Not that I expected it to go the way of this verse, but as a writer, the structure of the season completely confused me. I enjoyed the bulk of the major story arcs, but the number of one off episodes, the way the arcs were timed out... it frustrated me.

*sigh* But I am writing this, especially since I think it's needed to counteract how dark things were this season. <3 Thanks for all the interest.


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